receptionist
by Juliette Rocher
Summary: This is my take on what would happen if Frank Abegnale jr. decided to be a receptionist for a night. And owned a gun. I will update as often as I can.


I walked through the lobby, smiling at the guests, and ignoring the uninvited press. They took pictures of everyone they could see, and I allowed myself a smile at the fact that I was attracting no more attention than the other single girls, due to lack of knowledge about the host of the party.

I stopped in the entrance, signalling to the security to remove the 'secretary' from the desk, and for one of them to take over, and only allow enough people who had invites into my party. Not anyone who walked through the door, as the secretary who is not my secretary was doing.

He struggled slightly with the two guards who held him, but soon stopped when he realised they were not going to let go. He quickly assessed the situation, and I could see him analysing the locks on the door and windows of my office. He looked surprised when I followed the guards into the room.

"Who are you, miss?" I can see his expectation of my falling at his feet at his deep tone and polite manners. I don't give him the satisfaction.

"I am the host of this party, the owner of the house, and also I will be the person facing you in court, if you don't stop speaking to me like that. Let him go, and if you could wait outside."

The guards leave, responding to the authority before they realise. One stops at the door, waiting for me to say he should stay. I ignore him for a moment and he leaves. I lock them out, and my surprise guest reacts with a real emotion, for the first time. He moves forward in his chair, and I see his eyes flick to my heels and to the unlocked window. I move to stand in front of the window, and remove my heels. I make a show of locking the window. He sees that I know he is planning on leaving, and relaxes slightly. I sit on the desk, and bring my legs up to my chin, hugging my calves. He tenses, more afraid now that I have relaxed.

"What do you want me to say? I'm sorry, but your receptionist was drunk, and I didn't want to leave you without one, but I couldn't stop people, I don't know who you know, sorry."

"I'm not angry, it's fine, just why?"

"What? I just saw the desk, and I like pretending. Ok miss, sorry, I just find it fun."

"Don't call me miss, I know what you do, I don't mind, but I'm not going to fall, ok."

He smiles, and I contradict myself, I can feel my brain melting, but not quickly enough for him to escape. I block his attack, and remove the key from the window, dropping it down my bra. He smirks at my chest and moves closer, standing too close, and I can feel his muscles clench and relax as he tries to open the window behind my back. I reach behind me, and remove his hands from the lock. He wraps them around me, and pulls me close against him. I ignore the feeling of his hands against my back, and focus on the metal pressing into my leg. I press closer against him, and he moves his hands up my back. l I know where he is going, and I speed up on trying to feel the entirety of the gun on his calve. I can feel the small barrel of the gun, and realise that it has no power, not really. He moves his hands under my arms, and strokes around to my front. I step back, and duck down to remove the gun from his leg. He bats at my hand, smirking, and I can see the assumption, before he realises that I have taken his gun.

The 45. Sits easily in my hand and I remember the days of my childhood, chasing my father around the grounds, trying to find the targets he had set up. My guest freezes, terrified of the familiarity I have with the small gun. He is unsure of himself for the first time. I see beneath the mask, the bravado, and into the heart of the child beneath. He isn't much older than my seventeen years, maybe nineteen, or twenty. He looks scared, and I wait a moment, relishing in the power I hold, before I come to my senses and put the gun on the desk, the handle toward him. He looks at it, waiting for the catch, and then his hand comes up, so quickly I almost miss it, and snatches the gun, his safety. He cradles it to his chest, lovingly, and I see the change that comes over him when he has the gun back in his possession. I relax, seeing where the confidence stems from. He stands again, between me and the door, and points the gun at me.

"Now, thank you for the gun, my darling, but that was not a good idea. Seeing as my evening's entertainment has been cancelled, I would like to see what you can do to improve my night."

The bravado is back. He points at the door with his free hand.

"Tell them to leave, go on."

I do as he says. "I am perfectly safe here, please go back out to the door, and turn away any unwanted guests." My voice is steady, and I am proud of myself for not giving away how I feel. Mainly excited, expectant, a little nervous, but not too much. I saw the boy, and I can easily manipulate the man.

"Good, now lock the door, and come back over here, shut the curtains. Take your jacket off. I mean it, I will shoot this, do as I say." I comply, laying the velvet over the chair, and sitting down. He waves the gun at me again, threatening me, trying to hide the shake in his hand. I reach my hand out, slowly, and he flinches slightly, but doesn't move away. I take the gun from his unresisting hand. I lay it back on the desk, and his hand drops.

I put it back on the desk, handle facing me this time, and he steps away from me, I motion for him to take it, but he doesn't, he just turns it around. He tries one final instruction, to see if it still works.

"Take your shoes off; put them on the desk, and your tights or sock or whatever." I do as he instructs and he steps closer, turning me to face away from him. He fumbles a bit with my dress, and I move his hands to my waist. My dress has two skirts, a short skater skirt, underneath the heavy full length ball-gown. I let him remove the ballgown.


End file.
